Underground Proclamation

art, Poetry, rhyme, Uncategorized 1 Minute

Maybe I should have just stayed in the park.
The tunnels I trod were wet, dingy and dark.
The wall art was weirder than a giant quark.

It said metaverses floating in potential soup?
Chug it all down, down, down Augustus Gloop.

What’s there to see in that Metaphor Sea?
Genes spawning you, is that what you see?
Body/brain, personality just a functionary?

What is there to find in sub quantum broth?
Is my question too questionable boffin toff?

How much do I care about your ivory tower,
its publications and their persuasive power?
A few decades from today comes the hour.

The time when materialism is out of rhyme.
The day when unshackled spirits are sublime.

I’m done with explaining why I believe it’s so.
You’d just back away and claim you must go.
Maybe you would say ring a psychiatrist bro.

Integrated, not synonymous, with our brains.
They influence us, but spirits holds the reins.

That intriguing rhyme was signed the Punster.
Judging by the pics he looks like a Munster.
Is he serious, or another meddling funster?


The Munsters is an American television series that began on the 24th of September 1964 and ended on May the 12th 1966. Re-runs were shown all over the world in the decades that followed.


© Rodney Hunter, 2024

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Published by surrealartpsychonaut

Among other things, the Surreal Art Psychonaut is a conduit to a lonely desert track lined with abandoned museums, laboratories full of aliens and aliens full of laboratories. Agar gel is their marmalade, anthrax is their herbs and spices and steel is their fiber. The Psychonaut's LIKE button is not there for decorative purposes, if you enjoy one of his poems, short stories, or articles, PRESS IT. Striking the LIKE button is as critical as sounding the alarm when the Triffids rise again. If I am displeased by a critique, I will paint the offenders lounge suite with a cocktail of rats piss and goats blood, graffiti their cat, tattoo their goldfish and reduce the tires of their pride and joy to a molten mess with some epic burnouts in the nearest police station car park. Then I will waggle my finger at them and say, you should not have said that. At this point, you may be wondering just how much we have in common. My hobbies are vampire hunting, werewolf taming and exorcising flagons of rum. Look, the spirits are all gone. I'm a unicorn whisperer by trade, and have been for the best part of eight centuries. I've spent the worst part of eight centuries having tickle fights with the alien from the Predator movie. The less said about that the better.

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